Ah! what is that flame, which now bursts on his eye?
Ah! what is that sound which now larums his ear?
'T is the lightning's red glare painting hell on the sky!
'T is the crash of the thunder, the groan of the sphere!
He springs from his hammock—he flies to the deck;
Amazement confronts him with images dire—
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck—
The masts fly in splinters—the shrouds are on fire!
O! sailor-boy! woe to thy dream of delight!
In darkness dissolves the gay frostwork of bliss—
Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright,
Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss!
O! sailor-boy! sailor-boy! never again
Shall home, love, or kindred thy wishes repay;
Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main,
Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay.
No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,
Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge;
But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,
And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge.
On beds of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid;
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow;
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made,
And every part suit to thy mansion below.
Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away,
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll;
Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye—
O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! peace to thy soul!
Dimond.
CCXXXII.
ON THE ENTRY OF THE AUSTRIANS INTO NAPLES.
Ay, down to the dust with them, slaves as they are!
From this hour let the blood in their dastardly veins,
That shrunk from the first touch of Liberty's war,
Be sucked out by tyrants or stagnate in chains!